The Game Hunter
by NellyN
Summary: The Doctor is looking for a quiet place to repair the TARDIS when he drops into John Riddell's camp on New Year's Eve 1898.
1. Savannah landing

Riddell, the game hunter, had just made camp. He was halfway through his second bottle of brandy when a police box materialized in the middle of the savannah.

He looked at the box for a long time. He felt a bit hazy, but fairly solid on the details: it was a bright blue police box, smoking slightly, with a blinking light on top. There was a noise which sounded almost, but not quite, entirely unlike a siren. After a few minutes, the light on top went out. The smoke dissipated. There was a persistent smell of ozone.

Nothing happened.

Riddell looked at the bottle in his hand. He rubbed his eyes and looked up. It was still there. He looked down at the bottle. Up again. Blink. Blink.

Nothing happened.

"Blimey," Riddell said, and poured himself another drink.

#

Sometime later, Riddell staggered up to the police box and drummed on it with the end of his shotgun.

"Oy there, you bugger! I demand an explanation!"

There was a clattering from inside the box.

"I heard that!" he called. "You can't hide from me, you bloody blue bobby. Think you can just pop in anywhere, do you? I've got _rights_. I'm a British citizen. You hear me? I'll have you up in front of a magistrate before you can say—"

Slowly Riddell realized that the door had opened and he was sticking the business end of his gun in some chap's face. He was the sort of man who was youngish but couldn't be called _young_. He was dressed like a college professor but had hair like a schoolboy. He glared down the barrel of Riddell's gun, sighed deeply and crossed his arms over his chest. "By all the armies of Mars and Venus. What does a man have to do to get some _privacy_ around here?"

Riddell blinked, then stuck his chin out and took a firm grip on the gun. "I ought to ask you the same thing," he said. "With considerably more justification, I might add. I worked to get here, you unctuous cheater. It took a lot of time and planning and it cost a lot of money. I didn't just _show up_." He paused. A hot wind blew across the savannah. "How on Earth did you get here?"

The professor chap blinked. "Is this Earth? Huh. The old girl must be worse off than I thought." He glanced back over his shoulder at something Riddell couldn't see. When he turned back he was biting his lip nervously. "What year is it?"

"What year is it?" Riddell repeated. "What _year_ is it? It's eighteen ninety-eight, isn't it. Or possibly ninety-nine."

The man's brow furrowed. "Are you drunk?"

"Swimmingly. Thank goodness. I don't think I could handle this sober."

"Handle what?" The trespasser blinked owlishly. "Is something strange going on?"

"Yes!" Riddell burst out. "_You are_! This is the middle of West Africa, in case you were curious. You have to take a lorry, two ships and a train just to get back to civilization. And that's after a bloody long walk!"

"No wait, that can't be right," said the man, tapping thoughtfully on his teeth. "There's a fairly large village not far from here."

Riddell lowered the gun a degree. "I'm talking about England, old boy."

"Oh, well, England," said the fellow. "Right." He stuck his head out the door and sniffed. Then he licked a finger and put it into the wind. "Is that your camp over there?"

"Yes."

The professor shielded his eyes with his hand and squinted. "Any more like you there?'

"No one at all," said Riddell.

"Brilliant. Perfect! And about how far is it from here, do you think. The metric system will be fine, if you haven't got another one."

Riddell glanced over his shoulder. "Twenty meters."

"And the fabric."

Riddell shook his head. "I'm sorry? I believe you said fabric."

"Yes, the fabric. Of your tent. Is it flammable? Is it… specially treated in any way to prevent flaming. Is what I'm getting at."

Riddell just stared.

The professor stared at it for a long moment. Riddell got the sense that he was doing math in his head. Then he opened the door and stood aside. "I suppose you had better come in."


	2. New Year's Eve

Riddell found himself in the middle of an extremely large room. It was the kind of room that seemed to get larger the more you looked at it. In the center was a large yellow control deck, like you might see on a particularly devious ship. Still clutching his shotgun, Riddell turned around immediately and stepped outside. He took a slow march around the thing, military style, then made his way carefully back in.

The professorial fellow was sitting on a chair with his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands. "Yes," he said, sounding a bit bored. "It's bigger on the inside. Clever of you to notice. What else?"

Riddell leaned his shotgun carefully against the door.

"Good show," said the professor. "That's progress. Questions?"

Riddell looked left, then right. He thought: _it could rain in a room this big. _He cleared his throat and hiccupped once. "Am I dreaming?"

"Extremely unlikely," said the chap. He paused, reflecting. "But not completely impossible. It's happened before. Do let me know if you find evidence in that direction. What else?"

Riddell squared his shoulders. He lifted his chin. He was ready to accept this, if it was his fate. It was hardly worse than anything he had already been through. "If I'm not dreaming, then I've gone mad."

The professor shrugged. "I'm not really in a position to say. But so what if you have? Nothing wrong with a good old fashioned bout of madness, I've always said." He frowned. "Well. I've actually never said that before, but it's a good solid thought. Madness is a bit like hot peppers, isn't it? Clears out the passages, gives you a fresh start in the morning. You ought to keep that in mind. Or, as you might say, _out_ of it." He chuckled and gave Riddell a toothy grin.

Riddell didn't say anything.

The youngish man coughed and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Um. All right, that got away from me a bit. But you know what I mean. What else?" He beckoned. "Come on, we haven't got all day." He tapped his foot.

"All right," said Riddell mildly. His temper was draining away. "What's your name?"

"The Doctor," said the Doctor.

"Doctor wh—"

"Just the Doctor," said the Doctor pleasantly. "Any more questions? Because we really ought to be getting on with things."

Riddell thought about it. "Have you got anything to drink?"

"Afraid not," said the Doctor. He clapped his hands and leapt to his feet, causing Riddell to jump backwards. "Look, I wasn't expecting visitors but now that you're here you might as well make yourself useful. See this?" He took an object out of his pocket. It had a long end like a pen, and then a knobby bit that glowed in the dark. Catching Riddell's nervous expression, the Doctor cocked his head like a curious dog. "You don't know what this is, do you?"

Riddell cleared his throat. "Well, not precisely, but I did see something like it in the south of France when I was in the service. This was a few years ago of course. A young lady of, ahem, negotiable affections used it on my—"

"It's a screwdriver," said the Doctor.

"Oh," said Riddell, much relieved. "Well, of course. Though by a strange coincidence the French device was _also_ called a—"

"It's sonic," said the Doctor drily. "It turns screws."

"All right."

The Doctor flipped it once in the air, then tossed it at him underhand, and Riddell caught it easily, despite being more or less addled with drink.

"Just point the blue end here and press the button," the Doctor said, indicating a large area of the control panel in the center of the room. "I need the casing off here. Threw a bit of a coil about three thousand years ago. I had tried to put her down somewhere where there were no people. Completely failed on that account. People all around here. Not to mention you. Now you were in the military, hmm? Decent aim all around? Top marks? Steady hands?"

"I was a terrific shot," Riddell boasted.

"Lucky me," said the Doctor. "Lucky us, actually. Keep your hands steady and don't drop… anything. There's a small risk of, hm."

"What do you mean, hm?"

The Doctor scratched his chin. "Just a sort of a general hm. Nonspecific. Have you heard of something called the Tunguska event?"

"No. What sort of event was that?"

"Never mind that. Let's get on with it."

Riddell pressed the button.

There was a lovely interesting whirring noise, and then an entire side of the control panel whizzed up into the air. It kept rising and rising, until it was over their heads.

"Excellent work!" said the Doctor. "It was years before I learned how to do that. Now hold her just like that. If it gets too heavy, switch to the other arm. That's what I do. Why we've got two arms, I've always said. To carry the load."

"It's not heavy at all," said Riddell.

"That's the spirit," said the Doctor. He got on his knees and shimmied into the nest of wires and gears exposed by the open casing. Presently there was the sound of banging. "It's the temporal bearings, o'course, they're always slipping and they're the very devil to fix." His voice became muffled as he crawled further under the control panel. "Tunguska, ha. What do they call you when you're at home?"

"Riddell," said Riddell. "John Riddell, at your service."

"Oh yes? Well there you are, then. Why don't you know what year it is, John Riddell?" There was a loud screech, and sparks showered down from the control panel. Riddell almost dropped the screwdriver, and the casing wavered in the air. The exposed edge hung guillotine-like over the Doctor's feet. "Ow! Don't worry, it's just my head."

Riddell used the screwdriver to lift the casing back up into the air. "I'm sorry?"

"You said it was eighteen ninety-eight or ninety-nine. Where I come from it's usually one year or the other. If we do two at once it gets dangerous." A hard thunk. "Yes, well," the Doctor muttered. "That's always been there I suppose." There were a few squeaks and a long, rusty mechanical scream. "It's all right, darling," said the Doctor gently. "There, there."

"It's New Year's Eve," said Riddell.

"Hmm? I'm sorry, I was talking to the—"

Riddell leaned down and looked under the control panel. "It's New Year's Eve!"

Silence.

The Doctor wriggled out from under the control panel. "Really?" He was covered in black grease and stank like a smoked ham. In one hand he held a sad-looking piece of rusted whatsit. "New Year's Eve!" He grinned. "I haven't done one of those in _ages_. I'm rubbish at holidays really. And don't even mention birthdays. I can barely make it to Christmas every year."

"Yes, well, me too," said Riddell dully, then realized he'd said it out loud.

"You can put that down now," said the Doctor.

Riddell realized he was still holding the casing up in the air. He lowered it gently, and the Doctor secured it to the rest of the ship with a set of clips.

"That'll hold until she resets," said the Doctor. "Thank you for your help. That was excellent. Truly invaluable work. I shall have to return the favor someday."

"Not bloody likely," Riddell muttered.

"I'm sorry? You're mumbling. Nobody likes a mumbler, I've always said."

"Nothing," said Riddell, a bit louder. "Just talking to myself."

"Now stand over here," the Doctor instructed. "Not there, just over here. That's it. Now, if I were you, I should put these goggles on." The screwdriver was pinched from Riddell's hands, and replaced with a set of welder's goggles. The Doctor had his own, on his head, along with a leather helmet, which he pulled down around his ears and buckled under his chin. "In your own time, then," said the Doctor, lowering his own goggles. "As long as it's right now." He rested a heavy hand on Riddell's shoulder.

"Why?" Riddell looked down at the goggles. "What's going to—"

He experienced a tingling sensation, and then death.


	3. Big game

"So that worked," said the Doctor. "I'm not surprised at all. Really." He paused for a long moment. "Though I think I will have that drink now, if it's all the same to you."

"What?" a disembodied voice said. "No, wait—_what_?"

Riddell sat very still. Like dawn coming over the treetops, he realized he was the person who'd said _what_. With this realization came others. His ears were ringing like an artillery shell had just gone off next to him. His joints were like jelly. His eyes burned. When he closed them, he saw bright white light, and when he opened them, he saw the ghost of it, a blur of pearly colors superimposed over the room. But that was not the part that was most difficult to accept.

What was most difficult to accept was that Riddell was, suddenly, sitting inside his own tent. A cheery little fire crackled outside. Insects buzzed. The air was fecund. Other than that the only thing outside was the night silence of the savannah.

There was a bottle of brandy in his hand. It was nearly full. The Doctor set two crystal tumblers in front of them. As if on autopilot, Riddell poured two fingers of brandy into one and two fingers of brandy into the other.

The Doctor took his and hefted it in the air. "To good aim. And a very happy New Year."

Riddell lifted his glass and knocked his back all in one go.

The Doctor attempted the same and ended up spitting and gagging over the fire. "That's brandy? And you _drink_ it? What's the matter with you? Are you ill?"

"What was that all about, then?" said Riddell. He didn't bother to pour another tumbler. He just sipped from the bottle.

"All perfectly normal," said the Doctor. "Not to worry."

"Yes, but what's it all _about_?"

"There's a question you could get in loads of trouble for asking," said the Doctor, and chuckled. "It's really nothing," he said in a more reasonable tone. "Once I replaced the thing I had her do a quick loop. Gets her back in alignment. Oh, sorry about your gun. What a pity." His smile at that was slightly predatory. "Not to worry though. She'll be back in, hmm, two hours I should say. What shall we talk about?"

He glanced once around the room. Then, before Riddell could speak, he picked a photograph out of Riddell's traveling desk. "How about them?"

Riddell went stone-still.

It was a photo of a woman and a child. The woman was in her late thirties, with long dark hair, and the boy next to her was nine or ten years old. "She's very beautiful," said the Doctor. "And what a stout lad." The Doctor held up the photo and looked from Riddell to the boy in the picture. "Your mouth and nose, eh? But like her around the eyes."

"Don't," said Riddell. He suddenly felt very cold.

The Doctor turned the photo over. "'Belladora and Thomas. November eighteen ninety-eight.' That was just a few months ago. Which makes me wonder what you're doing a lorry, two ships, a train and a very long walk away from them on New Year's Eve." He looked at Riddell over the edge of the photograph.

Riddell took a deep breath. He swallowed a coal-hot rage and extended a hand. "I'm not sure it's any of your business, Doctor."

"Everything's my business," said the Doctor.

Riddell kept his hand out. "I'm hunting."

"Mm. Hunting what exactly?"

"Big game."

"Tigers?"

"Bigger than that."

"Elephants?"

The Doctor's look said that whatever else was going on tonight, tigers and elephants were off the table. Riddell considered this. At other times in his life Riddell had known fighting men and leaders, and he did not doubt that the Doctor could dictate anyone's quarry. Fortunately Riddell was not hunting animals tonight. He kept his hand out.

The Doctor rested the photograph in it. "Whatever it is," said the Doctor, "you're not going to find it at the bottom of a bottle."

Riddell looked at Bella and Thom for as long as he could bear it, and then he placed them back on the writing desk, which he could close at will.

"Two hours?" said Riddell.

The Doctor looked at his watch. "Actually, one hour and fifty-five minutes now."

"Are you a good hand at poker?" Riddell opened the desk and took out a deck of cards.

"That's the one with marbles, right?"

Riddell smiled. "Got any money?"

"I've got this watch."

"And a screwdriver," Riddell pointed out.

"I don't gamble with tools." He spoke nearly as coolly as Riddell had of Bella and Thom.

"You've got a mad looping time box."

The Doctor leaned forward and gave his best steely look. "You couldn't win enough poker games."

"How about a ride then?"

"Where?"

Riddell shuffled the cards. "Does it go to the future?"

"Why? Afraid you're not going to make it?"

Riddell gave him a brittle smile.

"All right," said the Doctor. "If you win, you get one trip into the future and back, no charge."

Riddell dealt the cards. "And the watch."

"And the watch," the Doctor agreed. "What do I get if I win?"

Riddell said, "I'll answer your questions."

"It's a deal."

They began to play.

#

Silence reigned. A tense silence. Eventually, an unbearable silence.

After the first two hands. Riddell lowered his cards, just for a moment. "I don't want to talk about it."

"And you are doing a great job at that." The Doctor lowered his cards and gave Riddell a hard stare. "We're not talking about it so hard I can hear my own hearts beat."

"Ever again," Riddell continued.

"Fine," said the Doctor. "Good. Done. What are we never speaking of again?"

Riddell took another swig from the bottle "They…" His voice caught. "It was scarlet fever," said Riddell. "Took them both not long after that picture was taken."

The Doctor looked stricken. Riddell truly believed that the Doctor would have reacted the same way if they'd been old friends, rather than a pair of strangers thrown together on a strange night. "I'm sorry," said the Doctor.

"Not as sorry as I," said Riddell.

"No," said the Doctor. "No, of course not."

"Still, that's life," said Riddell. He took a deep, shaking breath and picked up the cards again. He felt a great weight on his shoulders, a weight that threatened to bear him to the ground. "Isn't it."

The Doctor made no move to resume playing. His expression was dark and judgmental. "Wait."

Riddell looked up.

"I have another question."

Riddell chuffed. "You haven't won yet, Doctor."

"I'm playing a different game now."

"You're not my doctor, you old trespasser," said Riddell.

"I'm everybody's doctor."

"Don't tell me that kind of talk actually works on people," said Riddell. "Cause, really, it just makes you look like a bloody—"

"What are you _actually_ hunting out here? Peace of mind?"

Riddell flinched. "No."

"Ah." The Doctor was silent. "Trouble then."

Riddell looked away.

"Serious trouble."

Silence.

"The kind that means you won't ever have to go back to an empty house."

Riddell swallowed and gave the Doctor a sickly smile.

"Big game," the Doctor observed casually.

"Not so big," said Riddell. "I'm very good at hunting."

"I'm better," the Doctor declared.

Riddell laughed, a big billowing hunter's laugh.

The Doctor laughed to, but there was an undertone of seriousness to it. "Found you, didn't I?"

"Beginner's luck," said Riddell. "I could show you some things."

"I believe it." The Doctor started to pick up his cards, then paused again.

"You're not going to quit now," Riddell warned. "I'm ahead."

"I was just thinking," said the Doctor. "I'm all out of questions. Changes the stakes."

"It really doesn't," said Riddell. "You're rubbish at cards."

"New rules," said the Doctor. "If I win, we have to play another game."

Riddell shook his head. "You think you're so clever."

"I know I am," said the Doctor. "I think I'm getting the hang of this."

"Pour yourself a drink, Doctor," said Riddell.

"Got any threes?" said the Doctor.

"Tell me what I'm going to see in the future."

"Tell _me_," said the Doctor. "What does it mean when they're all kings?"

He showed his hand.


	4. On time

A little less than two hours later, there was a hot wind across the savannah. It was an hour before midnight again. The air had cooled. A log had been added to the fire. The hot wind blew across the grass. There was a sound that was almost, but not quite, entirely unlike a siren.

A police box materialized in the grass. It was not smoking this time.

Nobody was there to see it, except a few tigers, who seldom bother people most of the time.

The Doctor thought, _right_ _on_ _time_, but he didn't turn to look. He felt the eyes of Belladonna and Thomas on him. And John Riddell.

"And they cook with these invisible micro-waves?" said Riddell.

"That's not all they do with them. They communicate too. Imagine a telegraph but sort of… electric."

"Telegraphs are electric."

"Digital then," said the Doctor.

"Digital?"

The Doctor sighed deeply. "I suppose we'll have to go to the eighties first."

"I don't know," said the game hunter. "It all sounds frightfully dangerous."

"Only if you do it wrong," said the Doctor. "That almost never happens. This called a royal flush right?"

"It's beginner's luck, I say."

"It's my turn to deal," said the Doctor.

The Doctor's arms were getting tired. He switched hands.

Around them, time went on.

#

Dawn surprised them. The sun was already bright when it edged under the tent flap. The Doctor's voice was tired. Riddell was eating a can of fragrant sardines. They'd done Earth history up to Amy, Rory, and River, played six games of poker and one card game of the Doctor's own invention. Now Riddell was teaching the Doctor to blow smoke rings, which mostly involved Riddell smoking and the Doctor drawing smoke rings and smoke planets and smoke TARDISes with the sonic screwdriver.

"The moon though?" said Riddell.

"Oh yes."

"But… the actual moon?"

"That's just the beginning," said the Doctor. "There's loads more."

That was when they both saw the line of bright light under the tent.

"Well, that's morning, then," said the Doctor.

"Yes," said Riddell.

"Whole new year. Guess your quarry went to ground."

"I suppose it did," said Riddell.

"Let's go see what's out there." The Doctor untied the flaps and crawled out, blinking. He took a slow turn around the tent. "See? Hardly singed. Oy!" He went bounding across the field to check on the TARDIS. "Terrific. A short loop got her sorted right away. Time fixes everything, I've always said." He stuck the key in the lock, turned it, and threw open the doors.

He checked once to make sure nothing had happened inside, then beckoned to Riddell, who was packing a bag. "Come on, then. If we leave now we'll be just in time."

"For what?" said Riddell, stepping aboard.

"Everything," the Doctor said, and shut the door.


End file.
